The Long Road
by thx10050
Summary: The Darkspawn have risen once more to wage their terrifying war against all of Thedas, and this time there may be no stopping them. In Ferelden’s darkest hour, a determined few must forge an army from ancient alliances to crush the Blight.
1. Prologue

((Author's Note: Greetings, and welcome to my Dragon Age: Origins fan fiction project. This will chronicle the adventures of Alexander Cousland and most of the companion characters from DA:O from the beginning of the game all the way to the end, optimistically speaking. I will state here and now that I will do my best to adhere to the game's own dialogue, cut scenes, etc, but I can make no promises I won't add or alter as I see fit to help make the story come across more smoothly. If this offends anyone, I apologize, but you are free, of course, to write your own story as well.

Assisting me on this project so far is VoiDreamer, from this website. Please take some time at any point to read over her own works. She is a very talented author in her own right and has been of great help in past projects of mine.

This project is based on the Human Noble origin story, and of course I do not own any rights or put any claim on BioWare Intellectual Property; this story is meant to be a work of fan fiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others as well. This story, overall, remains a rough draft for the time being, but here is the first chapter of hopefully many more to come.))

**Eve of the Storm**

_We stand upon the brink. It is the twilight hour now and within only a few days at most, __**all**__ will be decided at Denerim: either Ferelden will fall forever or the Archdemon will be slain and the Blight ended. _

_Though, as with everything else, it comes as no surprise that there is a __**price**__ to pay for such a victory and it is a heavy one indeed. _

_But, as both Alistair and Duncan taught me..._

_In death, __**sacrifice**__._

"You're brooding again, aren't you?"

Stiffening in shock, the heavily armored Grey Warden spun around with a deep clanking of polished silverite plates coupled with the low jingle of oiled chainmail. Alexander Cousland's right gauntleted hand flashed downward to grasp Starfang's hilt, instinct driving him to yank the silver-bladed longsword from its black leather scabbard. He stopped short not a moment later, almost freezing in place with his teeth bared to snarl a battle-challenge, his eyes narrowed and glaring.

The sharply defined, almost aquiline features of his visage relaxed visibly as he beheld only Leliana standing calmly before him, the bard's slim-fingered hands half-raised in reassurance.

_He had thought for certain... He had been expecting... _

"I-I'm sorry," He managed to rasp, clearing his dry throat audibly as he forced his fingers to unclench from around Starfang, allowing the weapon to slide back down into place with a slither of metal against leather.

Alexander took in a deep cleansing breath as he closed his brown eyes - almost as dark as his short raven-black hair - for a second, before releasing it in a long soft sigh as he opened them once more to steadily meet her gaze.

"I was...thinking, and didn't hear you approach."

"It's all right, Alex," Leliana replied, her voice soothingly warm and affectionate as she walked up to him, reaching out to place a calloused yet still delicate hand against his cheek. Her touch was both consoling and encouraging, and Alexander savored the warmth as his left hand rose to enclose hers.

Though her full lips bore a gentle, familiar smile, the Grey Warden could still see the anxiety and concern reflected in her green eyes.

"The others were worried about you," The bard continued, "even Sten, though he would never admit it of course. And Shale _actually_ referred to you once by name when requesting I check on you. But only once," She added, smirking.

"By name? Truly?" Alexander chuckled quietly in astonishment as he smiled. "You should've recorded that in stone for posterity. And here I thought that the word 'it' was all I'd ever amount to with him... Well, her..."

For a moment, his honest confusion was quite apparent as he caught himself. Alexander's usually stern and reserved countenance crumbled for an instant as he frowned in uncertainty, revealing the innocent youthfulness that still remained, though it was rarely revealed these days due to the intertwined burdens of duty and command.

Leliana couldn't help but burst out laughing at his puzzled expression, a light and silvery harmony that warmed the Grey Warden's heart every time he heard it. Smiling, he joined in for a moment, laughing quietly as she pulled him to her in a tight loving embrace. He hugged her against his chest in return, holding her close contentedly within his arms as he reflected on the fact that if he had to choose only one thing he treasured about his beloved Leliana, then it would be her heart.

Even after the murderous confrontation with Marjolaine in her house in Denerim, Leliana had still managed to maintain her positive and cheerful outlook on life, continuing to believe firmly in the Maker's will and guidance. Still, she had nonetheless acknowledged that the act of killing Marjolaine had been a necessary one. The bard had admitted to Alexander afterwards that her life experiences thus far had indeed hardened her, and caused her to understand now that sometimes certain actions – indeed, certain choices – were inescapable.

Even awaiting a new chance at redemption within the Chantry had been yet another means for her to escape reality, to run away from her past and flee the truth. It had been quite clear that Marjolaine would never have left her alone until either she or Leliana was dead and thus her end was unavoidable.

"I'm certain Shayle doesn't view herself as either," Leliana replied once she had recovered, her voice muffled against his breastplate, "but for now, 'him' seems to be best, does it not? After all, do _you_ see a dwarf woman in that walking stone fortress?"

"Not really I suppose," Alexander replied, smirking as his right hand reached up to stroke her short reddish-brown hair with metal-clad fingers. His voice lapsed once more into silence, the Warden simply satisfied with holding his beautiful lady in his arms.

"Are you sure you're all right, Alex?" Leliana asked at last, stirring within their mutual embrace to glance up at him once more, her concern now openly displayed as she cocked her head to one side in a familiar manner. "You've been standing atop this tower for hours now. May I ask what you were thinking of?"

"_Everything_, it seems," The Grey Warden replied with a weary sigh as he gazed off into the darkness of the night, far beyond Redcliffe Castle's torch-lit stone walls towards the now invisible horizon.

"The Blight moves to overwhelm Denerim itself and even though we've mustered a combined army the likes of which Ferelden hasn't seen in centuries to oppose the horde, I'm still not certain if we can defeat the foe. It's as my father said: we were caught almost completely unprepared by the emergence of the darkspawn in the southern lands, and Ferelden herself has been weakened from long years of occupation and war. What's worse is that our mortal enemy doesn't invade with any interest in conquering or even enslaving... They come to kill us all: every last man, woman, and child. I...I used to believe that the defeat of King Cailan's army at Ostagar and Duncan's death both marked the beginning of the end, that the Maker had indeed turned His back on all of us for good. After Loghain's unforgivable treachery, it seemed as if the only thing one could do was pray for a swift end..."

As he spoke, Alexander's voice seemed to drift away with every word, growing quieter and more solemn for a long moment as the Warden's concentration strayed off into vivid memories, but then he quickly recovered. His tone became firm once more, though he still spoke slowly, carefully, as if he was reliving his own words within his mind.

"But then with every step we took to try and marshal allies to crush this new Blight - no matter how bleak a task it appeared at first - _hope_, it seemed, was not merely a fool's dream as I once believed in Lothering many months ago. Alistair and I both miraculously survived Ostagar, thanks to Flemeth; Morrigan then joined us, albeit reluctantly at first; and then there in Lothering, at the very first town we visited following the slaughter at Ostagar, we gained the camaraderie of you and Sten. I think," He added, his voice softening, "it was only then after speaking with both of you later on at our campsite that I truly realized and accepted what Alistair and I _had_ to do."

"And you've done a wonderful job, my beloved," Leliana said, her voice soft yet serious as she regarded him. "You've accomplished what less resolute men would never even have dreamed was possible. With courage and honor you've allied the mightiest of Ferelden to oppose this Blight and its Archdemon."

She ran a hand slowly through his hair, fingers stroking comfortingly as she continued, "You united Orzammar under Lord Harrowmont, who has proven to be a just and worthy king, while avoiding the terrible bloodshed of civil war. You cleansed Circle Tower of the abominations and traitorous blood mages within, and slew the demon-corrupted Uldred, thereby sparing the innocent and preventing the utter massacre of the Circle of Magi by the templars. You saved not only the life of Arl Eamon, but those of his son and wife as well, and prevented the slaughter of the townsfolk. You-"

"_All_ of which would _never_ have been accomplished without the support of you and our other companions, Leliana," Alexander interjected softly in reply as one of his hands lowered to caress her cheek lovingly as he gazed into her green eyes, "but especially you."

"I believe in you, Alex," Leliana declared earnestly, her eyes honest and her voice heartening, "and the others do as well. None of them would say such aloud, not even Alistair, but words are unnecessary when I know each one of them would follow you without hesitation down into the darkest depths of the Deep Roads themselves if _you_ commanded it." A wry smile graced her lips as she continued, "And I'm sure Shale and Sten would be arguing, as usual, over who should rightfully take the lead."

"Before Alistair shut them both up by shoving his way past them with sword and shield ready," The Warden agreed, chuckling quietly.

"You're their comrade, their friend, _and_ their leader, Alex," Leliana continued, her voice rising intensely. "And understand here and now that no matter what happens in the next few days, you are _not_ alone. We will _all_ stand at your side, together, and meet whatever fate awaits us."

"A truly inspiring speech, my love," Alexander said, his tone only slightly mocking as he smiled fondly down at her. "And one that will surely measure up to the epic orations from the grand sagas of valor and honor told to wide-eyed young children sitting by the firelight at night. You always did have a way with words," He continued more sincerely. "It's a talent I've envied many a time before, as you well know."

"Despite my other..._skills_, Alex, I _am_ still a bard, remember?" Leliana replied mischievously, winking. "It's my duty to be dramatic, eloquent, sorrowful, witty, or somber as required by my tales to sway my audience. In this case: a dour and grim Grey Warden _desperately_ in need of cheer. But...perhaps mere words alone aren't what are truly needed at the moment..."

Even as she said this last, Leliana's voice dropped low and husky, sending a thrill crackling through Alexander's body, as if an electrical shock flashed down along his spine. The bard's hands slid up along his armored torso to tease the exposed skin of his neck with her fingertips as she pulled his head down to hers, their lips meeting in a long, passionate kiss. Leliana's tongue slipped between his lips to wrestle playfully with his own and Alexander's head swam with the always overwhelming and intoxicating sensation. He instinctively tightened his arms around her, almost crushing the bard against him as she melted into his embrace.

"Here now, what's this, you two?" Alistair's cheery voice rang out, startling the two of them as it echoed off the thick stones of the sturdy wall. "There _are_ rooms available in the castle for that sort of thing, you know!"

"Alistair, by the Maker, would you keep your voice down?" Leliana hissed as she hurriedly broke off the kiss to peer out from behind one of Alexander's arms, her cheeks flushed.

"I observe, then, that it is doing well?" Shale asked only a moment later in his deep, resonating voice as the hulking war golem stomped heavily up the wall's stairs, almost cracking the stone beneath, to stand behind the leather-garbed Alistair. The golem studied Alexander calmly with its unblinking, glowing eyes, its expression unfathomable as usual.

"Aye," Alexander answered, nodding in affirmation as he turned within Leliana's embrace to face the golem and Alistair. He squeezed the bard's shoulders tenderly with one arm about her. "I'm feeling fine, Shale, thank you for asking."

"Good," The war golem replied almost curtly, nodding slightly in return. "Then now, if that is so, we can discuss how we shall smash the darkspawn invaders into bloody ruins, yes?"

"Only the golem would not take into account proper combat tactics and the need for an overall strategy," Sten uttered gravely as he too strode up onto the walltop to join the others, heavy plated boots thumping against the stone. "The Beresaad know all too well that there is much more to waging war than merely 'smashing' the enemy, especially regarding a conflict that will decide the fate of this homeland of yours."

"Perhaps," Shale replied, glancing over at the looming qunari, who was the only one amongst the party that could match the golem's height, if not its bulk, "but those concerns are far better suited for a creature of soft flesh and easily spilled blood, such as you. I, on the other hand, possess no such weaknesses and am therefore not interested in anything else really save the 'smashing'...and possibly the 'crushing' as well. Yes, I believe those two will do nicely indeed."

Alexander had to fight to keep from smiling as the golem and the qunari fell easily into their usual bickering, Shale's wit and innate arrogance matched against Sten's level stoicism and near unrelenting discipline. Leliana let out an exasperated sigh as she rolled her eyes in mock disgust, before turning to bury her face within her hands against the Grey Warden's breastplate, shaking her head. And Alistair merely folded his arms across his chest and sighed softly as well as he stared at the stone floor, tapping one booted foot against the unyielding surface as he waited impatiently for the two to finish.

Alexander watched the two for only a minute more, before he motioned to Alistair slightly as he jerked his head at the arguing Shale and Sten.

_Do something!_

Alistair simply raised an eyebrow slowly, as if to question Alexander's sanity, before glancing pointedly to his left and right, indicting each of the towering companions.

_They're __**both**__ seven feet tall. What do you honestly expect __**me**__ to do?_

"_Some_ of us," Morrigan broke in sharply, interrupting the two arguing companions as she pushed her way bodily between them to stand before Alexander with hands planted on her hips, "are not in the least bit interested in your silly arguments regarding your towering masculinity and godlike martial prowess. We all came seeking news of Alexander's well-being. It seems he's fine after all and therefore we can now move on to more important affairs."

With her back to them, Morrigan completely missed the withering glares Sten and Shale both cast upon her for so rudely interrupting their disagreement. But, considering her often sardonic personality, the Grey Warden knew the witch wouldn't care in the least had she even seen the baleful glowers.

"Such concern from you is _truly_ touching, Morrigan," Alexander replied dryly as he spread his arms wide. "Why, we all might _actually_ need a moment of silence to savor this unexpected emotional occasion."

"All right, moment over!" Alistair quipped only a second later, chuckling. "Any longer than an instant and I fear Morrigan might accidentally reveal to us she's not as heartless as she'd have us believe and _that_, I fear, would signal the end of the world as we know it."

"As I recall," Morrigan replied slowly, raising a hand to stroke her chin in mock thoughtfulness, "there was a time not too long ago in the Wilds when we first met during which one of your Grey Warden initiate underlings was utterly convinced I would turn you all into toads. If you persist in testing me, Alistair, then perhaps you shall find out firsthand if I possess such power."

"Uh," Alistair grunted, gulping audibly as he raised his hands as if to physically ward off the witch's ire. "Perhaps it's best then that we move on." Bowing low with a grand flourish of his right arm, he added, "I shall therefore endeavor to keep my peace, my friends, at least for a moment."

"Thank the Maker for that," Leliana muttered.

"Such blasphemy from one so usually devout!" A woman's firm yet mild voice called out teasingly as it spoke up from the stairs.

"Wynne, you're here!" Alexander exclaimed in gladness, stepping forward to embrace the elderly mage as both Sten and Shale stepped aside respectfully to allow her to join the circle of companions. "I thought you had remained with the Circle, to help First Enchanter Irving prepare the mages for what they will face at Denerim."

"I can do no more for them now," Wynne replied as she was greeted warmly by Leliana and Alistair, with even Sten and Morrigan offering her stiff, deferential nods of welcome. "They're all fully aware of what I experienced at Ostagar and most are at least _moderately_ skilled in the arts of elemental battle-magic. Therefore, they are as ready as they're ever going to be...if one can even be _truly_ prepared to challenge the raw strength of a Blight and its monstrous Archdemon. But with that task done," She finished, casting a kindly smile at her fellow companions as she patted Shale and Sten each on an arm, "I decided I can serve Ferelden best now by rejoining you all here at Redcliffe before the march to intercept the darkspawn at Denerim. I'm glad I managed to make it here in time."

"As are we," Alistair said candidly, "for I was beginning to wonder _who_ exactly would be willing and able to patch us up after our victory. The unknown, soul-freezing glacier standing across from me would certainly not-"

"He seems to think, good Wynne," Morrigan interrupted sarcastically, "that by not referring to me by name I somehow won't realize he's talking about me. But I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised because it has been quite apparent during all of this time that intelligence is certainly _not_ a requirement to don the mantle of a Grey Warden." She tilted her head at Alexander in acknowledgment as she added, "Your present company excluded, of course."

"My thanks, Morrigan," The Grey Warden replied wryly, but as his dark eyes passed slowly around the circle of his friends and comrades, he found abruptly that he couldn't bring himself to speak another word. His voice instead trailed off into an uncomfortable silence that was broken only by the crackling of the nearby torches and the distant murmuring voices of Arl Eamon's men-at-arms.

For months now, Alexander had fought and bled beside these men and women – and golem, he mentally added, suppressing a smile that threatened to reach his lips – each so different in countless ways and yet so alike as well. They were all united by their singular desire to defeat the vile, monstrous darkspawn and save Ferelden, even if their personal reasons for doing so varied individually. They had all camped together, slept alongside one another, eaten together, and, despite their passionate, near violent disagreements at times, had saved each other from almost certain death more times than Alexander could now easily remember.

_I may have perhaps been the catalyst that drew them all together, as Leliana believes_, Alexander reflected as he gazed at all of them warmly, _but it is __**they**__, and not I, that have formed the true bond of fellowship within that has kept us together for all this time. _

_And that is a wondrous gift which I know I will never be able to repay for as long as I live..._

"I–" The Grey Warden began, his voice unusually quiet, before hesitating, the words catching in his throat as all of them looked at him. Their gazes were so penetrating, so critical, and yet still so..._trusting_.

_Maker above, their lives are in __**my**__ hands... They have looked to me to lead them and they believe so strongly that I will not – __**cannot **__– lead them astray at this crucial hour. And yet now we stand on the edge, teetering on the threshold of annihilation or salvation._

_What if I fail them in the end? What if they die now because of __**me**__?_

_Could-Could I live knowing __**I**__ was responsible for their doom?_

"My friends," He began once more, but again as before his voice failed him, the acidic doubt and icy dread swarming up from within like a foul miasma to choke away the words in his throat. He gasped for breath as though drowning and felt Leliana hug his right arm tightly in unspoken support.

"It's all right, Alexander," Wynne said gently, taking a step forward and nodding, a kindly, but strangely sad smile on her lips. "We know."

And at that, everyone nodded as one, slowly, determinedly, the expressions on their faces adamant and unwavering as they shared their support openly for both Alexander and each other. They knew what was at stake and what might be asked – nay, _demanded_ – of them. They understood that _all_ of their lives were forfeit if it meant destroying the Archdemon and ending the Blight.

Alexander could only nod gratefully at them in return, hugging Leliana against him. They were with him and that was all that mattered. There remained an undercurrent of fear rippling amongst them of course, for who could rightly claim not to be afraid when standing against the legions of darkness? Even Shale acknowledged the existence of fear, the worry of what might happen should his body be shattered, crumbling apart into mere inanimate stones. With the Anvil of the Void destroyed, there would be no chance to restore the war golem should that happen.

Nevertheless, courage and honor eclipsed their fear, for they had confronted some of the deadliest adversaries in Thedas' history and had triumphed, together.

And together, there did not seem to be an enemy they could not defeat.

_Fate, it seems,_ Alexander thought gravely,_ is not without a sense of finality. This will all soon end in blood and fire, no matter the outcome. _

_And yet, it began in much the same as well._

For a long moment, his thoughts drifted back through memories that seemed as if they had occurred a lifetime ago...


	2. Fiery Departure: Part One

((Author's Note: This first part to the Human Noble origin story is very long, but please bear with me, if you would. There's a great deal of dialogue to copy and organize, as well as descriptions, details, etc, that need to be added to 'novelize' the scenes. There are slight T-rated 'lemons' at the end of this chapter, so be forewarned. :) Otherwise, as usual, I own nothing of BioWare's intellectual property, as stated earlier. This chapter will probably be replaced by an edited version once VoiDreamer gets back to me.))

**Fiery Departure (Part One)**

With a clash of steel against steel, Alexander Cousland stepped forward to meet his attacker's advance, his heavy longsword lashing out. For a moment, he strained against his opponent's quivering blade, their weapons locked together, metal scraping against metal as each man pitted his strength against the other. The young nobleman then side-stepped, keeping his bodyweight low and centered as he had been taught as his booted feet sought out sure footing. His sword disengaged for an instant before slashing out once again in another hacking blow, even as he raised his shield to parry aside the questing blade of his assailant.

"_No!_" Swordmaster Thomas' deep voice bellowed in annoyance. "Use the point, Alex, the Maker-damned point! The slashing edge is bloody useless against your enemy when their vitals are protected by heavy armor! Stop dancing around like some fool jester and go for the kill!"

Alexander nodded in understanding, a quick jerk of his head, the breath rasping in his lungs and his muscles burning from his exertions. He circled warily to his right, sword and shield held at the ready as he blinked rapidly to clear the stinging sweat from his dark brown eyes. He flexed his fingers unconsciously around the hilt of his sword and the grip of his shield, instinctively taking a firmer grasp on both with his leather-encased hands.

A legacy passed down for several generations, ever since Sarim Cousland had acquired the land and title centuries earlier, the Couslands did their utmost to ensure that their combat training was as close to real battle as possible. They required their sons and daughters both to wear heavy, war-ready armor of mixed plate, studded leather, and chainmail, and use weighted weapons and shields, though with blunted edges. Still, accidents could – and did – happen, with broken bones, pulled muscles, and bad gashes all very real possibilities during training.

Alexander's eyes flicked down for an instant to assess his opponent's shifting boots, before he lunged in the next moment, his longsword stabbing out. The experienced castle guardsman he was training against was not caught unawares and immediately dodged to one side, his movements swift and efficient. His sword twisted out in the same second to parry aside the blade easily, before flashing down at the young Cousland's helmeted head in its counter-stroke. Alexander barely managed to recover, raising his shield only just in time, the heavy impact shaking his entire body clear down to his feet. But even as he blocked the strike, the sword sliding clear of the rounded metal boss of his shield with a piercing screech, he stepped in closer to the guard, dropping his shield down into place before him in the next instant. Putting much of his bodyweight and considerable strength behind the blow, the young lord smashed his kite shield of heavy wood reinforced with thick bands of rough iron into the guard's breastplate with a furious backhand strike.

The bludgeoning blow caught the soldier off-guard, the breath exploding from his lungs with a wheezing grunt. He stumbled back, his arms flailing wildly for a moment as he sought to keep his balance. Seizing the opportunity, Alexander raised his shield high once again, this time stepping in to punch the dull edge squarely into the guardsman's helmeted face, snapping the man's head back with a muffled cry. The soldier's legs seemed to crumple beneath him and he fell backwards to land with a deep crash of metal armor against solid stone.

Alexander stepped forward and lowered his longsword for a stabbing stroke, placing the point almost against the guard's exposed throat.

"Yield," He rasped, panting for breath. His helmet was hot and stifling, the blood surging through his body pounding within his ears like the roar of a blacksmith's bellows.

"I-I yield, my lord," The guardsman replied, likewise puffing hard as he released his sword, the blade clanging as it landed against the stone-paved ground. "Well fought."

"My thanks to you," Alexander said as he sheathed his own weapon before reaching down to offer the guard a gauntleted hand. His body had begun to tremble uncontrollably as the adrenaline slowly drained away, leaving only exhausted and quivering muscles in the wake of its departure.

The man grasped his wrist and the young noble helped to heave him up onto his feet, grunting with the effort. The rather unsteady guard saluted Alexander by slamming his right fist against his breastplate over his heart, before nodding slightly and turning to stumble away with assistance from a fellow guardsman. Both of the soldiers headed towards the nearby guard post, which doubled as the castle's armory, to divest themselves of their training weapons and armor.

Alexander reached up to unbuckle and then yank off his great helm, barrel-shaped, and of angular and intimidating design with narrow glaring eye slits and multiple breathing slots, each a small slash in the thick metal. He lurched forward in the next moment, almost stumbling as someone clapped him hard on the shoulder and nearly dislodging the mail coif that he wore beneath to both protect his exposed neck and keep the helm firmly in place during battle.

"A good fight, lad," Swordmaster Thomas said, the large, barrel-chested man's red-bearded visage splitting into a broad grin. He wagged a finger at Alexander as he added reproachfully, glowering, "But next time fight as I've trained you! Maker's blood, Alex, even your elder brother's mastered the techniques we've tried to drive into your thick skull, but you still rely too much on your strength and size to make up for skill."

Thomas looked Alexander pointedly up and down, critically eyeing the young Cousland's broad-shouldered figure, chest still heaving beneath his armor as sweat dripped from his forehead and streamed down his neck. Standing tall at a few inches over six feet in height, the fully armored Cousland lord, with his aquiline, hawk-like visage and dark, penetrating eyes, was a daunting enough figure to give even an experienced fighter momentary pause.

"You may be able to wield a two-handed sword with ease," Thomas continued, "but remember well that your father doesn't pay me to train you to be a mindless berserker. Leave _that_ to the dwarves of Orzammar or insane death-seekers. We train to fight with our hearts _and_ our heads, and we use both sword and shield not only out of tradition, but also to be able to attack strongly without leaving oneself defenseless."

"I remember those lessons well, Thomas," Alexander replied, his voice deep, but relatively mild. His face twisted into a grimace, eyebrows furrowing. "I still believe two-handed weapons have their place, but I remember the welts and bruises I had for what seemed like weeks on end afterwards."

"You were too stubborn, lad!" The Swordmaster replied, laughing heartily. "You insisted you could match me with a great sword. But you learned aright in the days that followed, didn't you?"

"Aye, I did," Alexander replied, smiling ruefully. "Though I admit I still find it difficult to stab and not slash, even after all this time."

"Armor and bone, Alex," Thomas said almost by rote, his voice as solemn as if he was reciting from a treatise on the waging of war. "How many times must I tell you this? If you slash, cut, and hack, you'll never land a killing blow until you've completely overpowered your enemy. And by that time, _he_ may have friends to help him, fresh and able, while _you_ are now exhausted from your efforts."

He slapped a large hand several times against Alexander's armored shoulders and chest in emphasis.

"While we haven't fought against heavy infantry or cavalry in years, don't forget that most armies these days have such amongst their forces. As strong as you are, heavy steel armor will repel your sword as easily as would a block of stone. You need to finish the battle quickly, before your own stamina is drained away from trying to fell just _one_ enemy. And that's why we place so much emphasis on the sword's point, the stabbing stroke that will punch through the gaps in a foe's armor to take his life. There'll be times you'll find you cannot get close enough to stab or are perhaps beset by someone skilled in the slashing method, but you _must_ remember to remain calm and hold your ground."

Here, the Swordmaster began to mime various fighting movements, as if he were armed and armored similarly to Alexander and battled some unseen foe, his booted feet shuffling against the stone ground as he moved about.

"Don't fight on your enemy's terms, for that's not what we've trained you to do, even if a proper sword can be used for either thrusting or slashing. Instead, you must battle hard for position: crowd your foe, use both sword and shield offensively to control the fighting distance, and then deliver the killing blow when the opportunity is there. And that's where this comes in again," Thomas commented, rapping his knuckles against the hard surface of Alexander's kite shield. "It'll protect you as you press into their guard and also form a lethal weapon in close, as you well know."

The Swordmaster's voice dropped low as he placed both meaty hands on Alexander's shoulder pauldrons, staring unblinkingly into his young charge's eyes as he finished grimly, "And never forget, Alexander, that there's _always_ someone bigger, stronger, and faster than you are. If you try to rely on only _one_ method of combat, if you try to simply overpower your enemies one at a time by attempting to beat them into submission with your blade, then you _will_ die. That's a certainty, beyond any argument. You _must_ learn to adapt to the battlefield's changing conditions and how your opponent fights. It's true we've fought mostly brigands, mercenaries, and robber bands these days, but with news of the darkspawn invasion to the south and the king's call-to-arms, who can say what will happen in the coming days..."

An unexpected chill of dread rippled down the young Cousland's spine and he shuddered as he frowned at the Swordmaster's dark words. Normally jovial and boisterous, though stern and commanding as well when needed, Thomas' grim manner now was unlike anything Alexander had witnessed before.

"Thomas," He said slowly as he looked searchingly into the larger man's blue eyes, "is there something amiss? Something you're not-"

"My lord!" The shout of a guardsman rang out as he approached at a quick walk down the open air corridor formed from the surrounding chambers within Castle Cousland. He came up to the pair and saluted both of them, before continuing as he addressed Alexander, "My lord Alexander, Swordmaster Thomas, forgive this interruption, but lord Bryce sends word he needs to meet with you in the main hall within the hour."

"I understand," Alexander replied, returning the guard's salute. "Inform my father I'll be there promptly."

As the guard hurried off to deliver the young Cousland's reply, Alexander turned back to Thomas with the same confused frown, but before he could utter a word, the Swordmaster raised both hands.

"No more questions for now, lad," He said gruffly, a strained, almost forced smile on his lips. "Your father's awaiting your presence and you, ser," He added, chuckling as he made a show of sniffing the air, "could use a good bathing before you meet with him."

"Perhaps you're right," Alexander replied slowly, wrinkling his nose as he caught a whiff of his perspiring body. After several hours of almost continuous weapons drill and combat training, it certainly would be good to scrub himself clean and relax his aching muscles in warm water, if only for a little while.

"Run along then, Alex," Thomas said. "We'll-" His deep booming voice faltered for an instant before recovering. "We'll talk later."

"I'll hold you to that, Swordmaster," The young Cousland replied earnestly, saluting his mentor respectfully before striding off, heading towards the armory within the guard post to rack his equipment.

- - - - -

Less than forty minutes later, Alexander approached the western door leading into the castle's main hall.

Now cleaned and freshly shaven, the younger and at times more somber Cousland brother wore a simple fighting uniform of studded leather armor, black of color and immaculate, complete with heavy boots and gauntlets. His circular shield of sturdy wood was slung across his back. The shield's facing was clad in burnished steel for additional strength, sharpened along the rim, and also curved outward, forming an extremely shallow bowl-like shape, a design adapted from the dwarves to more efficiently repel projectiles and absorb sword blows. His longsword – of simple design but of the finest steel Alexander could afford through honest labor – was sheathed at his left side. The hilt was plain and unadorned, clad in soft bronze-colored metal that might serve to hold the enemy's blade for a vital instant, and the grip was wrapped about in dark strips of roughened leather to prevent it slipping from his grasp.

The Couslands of Ferelden considered themselves knights first and foremost. They were a military-minded family founded on the principles of a warrior's duty to safeguard the innocent and aid the righteous. As such, they valued good steel over glittering gold, respected valor and honor over one's supposedly noble birthright, and had little use for the pomp and ceremony that the aristocracy of distant kingdoms, such as Orlais, put so much stock in. Alexander's attire reflected that focused martial attitude, and both he and his older brother had been raised by Teyrn Bryce Cousland to espouse the virtues of courage, duty, and honor over one's own personal gain or ambition.

The Maker judged them all by their deeds, not their words, and thus the Couslands ruled Highever as justly as they could, settling disputes as fairly as possible when needed, and riding to aid the banns and arls sworn to their service whenever they called. Though perhaps not truly beloved by the populace of Highever or even by the banns and arls under them, the Couslands were nonetheless _respected_, as they held everyone – commoner and noble alike – accountable for their chosen actions, including themselves.

Alexander raised a gauntleted hand to push open the unbarred sturdy wooden door leading into the main hall. He was greeted immediately by the sight and warmth of the familiar crackling fire before him, and heavily armed and armored house guards stationed down the length of the long room, which doubled as both audience chamber and feasting hall. Alexander beheld his father standing before the great fireplace, resplendent in a gold and red tunic with pants of dark red cloth tucked into brown, calf-length riding boots. Every time Alexander looked upon his father, he always was reminded of his upbringing, his responsibilities, for Bryce Cousland seemed to embody what it was to be a knight, standing tall and dignified, every inch the noble country lord, his long graying hair trimmed neatly and parted to one side.

As he approached, the younger brother regarded the man his father was currently speaking with. Possessing a long, almost sallow visage with a hooked nose and brown eyes, Arl Rendon Howe had been born during the occupation by Orlais and had been a longtime family friend of the Couslands for many years now. Rather arrogant and abrasive, even at the best of times, he wore rich clothing that spoke of his vanity, a mixture of the finest cloth of gold, purple, and blue, with dark riding boots.

Alexander heard both men speaking with a plain familiarity to their words, friends clearly at ease in each other's presence.

"True," Arl Howe was saying as Alexander strode up to them, keeping a respectful distance between himself and the conversing pair. "Though we both had less gray in our hair then. And we fought Orlesians, not..._monsters_."

"At least the smell will be the same," Teyrn Cousland replied, snorting with laughter. Glancing to his right, he finally noticed his son standing quietly nearby, waiting patiently. "Oh, I'm sorry, pup! I didn't see you over there."

Gesturing for Alexander to step forward and join them, he continued, "Howe, you remember my son, don't you?"

"Of course," Howe replied, his voice as smooth as oil. "I see he's grown into a fine young man. Pleased to see you again, lad."

Suppressing a grimace of distaste, for ever was Alexander reminded of a snake slithering along when he looked upon Arl Howe, he replied coolly, "And you, Arl Howe."

"My daughter Delilah asked after you," The arl added as if in afterthought. "Perhaps I should bring her next time."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexander saw his father raise a hand, feigning a yawn to conceal his chuckling smile, for he knew exactly what his youngest son thought of the gushing, loud-spoken, and gossipy Delilah.

Grimacing inwardly, Alexander barely managed to keep his composure intact as he replied politely, "I'd like that. Please send her my...warmest regards when you see her next."

"Good!" Howe said, clapping his hands together in emphasis. "She does go on and on about your prowess as a warrior. I think you might have an admirer, young man."

"At any rate, pup," Bryce interjected smoothly, stepping in to rescue his discomfited son, "I summoned you for a reason. While your brother and I are both away, I'm leaving you in charge of the castle."

"_What?_" Alexander replied sharply, mouth dropping open in shock as his face twisted in a dark frown of confusion and mounting anger. Arl Howe's presence abruptly vanished from his mind as he continued, his eyes fixed firmly on his father's grave visage. "We never spoke of this before. Why can't I go into battle with you and Fergus? You would have me stay behind like a coward and-"

"I'm _certain_ you'd more than prove yourself, pup," Bryce interrupted, his voice calm and soothing as he stepped forward to place a hand reassuringly on his son's left shoulder, "but I'm not willing to go up against your mother if I tell her you'll be joining us in this war. She'd kill me if I let you go. She's already twisted into knots about Fergus and me going as it is. I'm certain she'd drag you kicking and screaming back into your chamber if you so much as mounted a horse without her leave."

For a long moment, Alexander could only stand there in silence, staring at the uncaring stone floor with his jaw clenched tight and forearms trembling as he balled both hands into tight, angry fists.

"Very well," He at last said quietly, unable to meet his father's gaze or keep the gritty resentment from reaching his voice. "I'll do what you think is best, father."

"Now that's what I like to hear," Bryce replied firmly, squeezing his son's shoulder. "Only a token force is remaining here and you must endeavor to keep the peace in the region. After all, you know what they say about mice when the cat is away, yes?"

Alexander could only nod slightly in reply, his sense of duty warring ferociously against the guilt and shame over being left behind.

_Fergus and father __**both**__ leaving without me..._

_They __**should**__ be fine, but still...something about all of this makes me uneasy..._

The young lord shook his head mentally, breaking himself from his brief reverie in time to hear his father saying, "Please show Duncan in."

Alexander watched silently as the house guard Bryce was addressing slammed a hand against his breastplate in salute and departed immediately to fetch whoever this 'Duncan' was that his father was referring to.

Within less than a minute, the guardsman returned leading a strongly-built, middle-aged, and brown-skinned man with his black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and a thick black beard with moustache. He was dressed in what looked to be a suit of ornate plate armor of the finest silverite, with a mixture of chainmail and plain leather clothing worn beneath. A gold earring dangled from his right ear and an oiled leather harness held two swords sheathed behind his back, their hilts poking out over his shoulders and within easy reach should he require them. If it wasn't for the quality of his armor and weapons, Alexander might have mistaken this Duncan for a common adventurer or perhaps a mercenary traveling across Ferelden to sell his services.

Bowing slightly in respect to Teyrn Cousland, Duncan spoke, his voice firm but slightly rasping, with traces of an accent Alexander did not recognize.

"It's an honor to be a guest within your castle, Teyrn Cousland. Your hospitality has been exemplary thus far and you have my thanks for it."

Arl Howe stirred uneasily, his eyes flickering between Bryce and the newly arrived Duncan.

"Your lordship," He said hesitantly, "you didn't mention a Grey Warden would be present."

Bryce raised a questioning eyebrow at his old friend, replying, "Duncan arrived only just recently, unannounced. Is there a problem?"

"No, no," Howe said hastily, raising his hands as he bowed stiffly at the neck at Duncan, "Of course there's no problem, but a guest of this..._stature_ demands certain protocol. I am...at a disadvantage, that's all."

"We rarely have the pleasure of seeing a Warden in person, that's true," Bryce agreed, nodding respectfully at Duncan. "Pup," He continued, glancing at Alexander, "Brother Aldous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, I hope?"

"Yes, father," Alexander replied, his dark brown eyes steadily meeting Duncan's piercing gaze. "They defeated the last Blight by the darkspawn."

Duncan tilted his head in acknowledgment of the young man's words even as he said, "Though not permanently, I fear."

"Still," Bryce commented, "without their warning of the darkspawn rising now, half the nation could have been overrun before we had a chance to marshal our forces to meet them. Duncan is looking for recruits before joining us and his fellow Wardens in the south," He continued. "I believe he's got his eye on Ser Gilmore."

"If I might be so bold," Duncan said slowly, almost carefully as he gestured at Alexander with a gauntleted hand, "I would suggest your son here is also an excellent candidate. I was observing some of his combat training earlier from a distance," He continued, nodding with approval, "and it was clear to me as I watched that he possesses both the strength and stamina to become a great warrior. We have a desperate need of such to hold the line against the Blight."

Alexander couldn't restrain a pleased yet nervous smile, his eyes flickering for an instant between both his father and the Grey Warden before he nodded politely at Duncan in return, thanking him wordlessly for the compliment.

"Honor though that might be, Duncan," Bryce said sharply, not failing to notice the exchange as he stepped decisively in front of Alexander while raising both of his hands as if to ward off the Grey Warden's interest, "this _is_ one of my sons we're talking about."

Frowning at his father's abrupt intervention, Alexander shook his head as he stepped forward as well, glancing over at Teyrn Cousland as he asked pointedly, "Is there a _reason_ I shouldn't join the Wardens if asked to, father?"

Arl Howe cleared his throat nervously, adding quietly, "You _did_ just finish saying the Grey Wardens are heroes, old friend..."

"I've not so many children that I'll gladly see them _all_ off to battle," Bryce declared firmly, looking meaningfully at Alexander. "Unless," He continued, glancing at Duncan with a hard, near challenging expression, "you intend to invoke the Right of Conscription...?"

"Have no fear," Duncan said calmly, shaking his head as he raised a hand in a placating manner. "While I admit we need as many good recruits as we can find, I've no intention of forcing the issue."

"Thank you," Bryce replied earnestly with a grateful nod, for he was quite aware of how absolute a Grey Warden's authority could become when at war with the darkspawn, as per the late King Maric's royal decree. He glanced once more at Alexander as he continued, "Pup, can you ensure Duncan's requests are seen to while I'm gone?"

"Of course, father," Alexander answered flatly, his heart still burning with the caustic mixture of shame and anger.

"Good," Bryce said, continuing as if nothing untoward had happened. "In the meantime, find Fergus and tell him to lead the troops to Ostagar ahead of me."

"And where you do think he'll be?"

"Upstairs in his chamber, no doubt, spending some last moments with his wife and my grandson," Bryce said, gesturing towards the eastern portal leading out from the main hall back out onto the castle grounds. "Now be a good lad and do as I've asked. Arl Howe, Duncan, and I have some business to attend to for now. We'll talk soon."

Alexander nodded to his father, saluted both Arl Howe and Duncan respectfully, and then strode past all three men, making to leave without another word.

"Oh, wait, pup! I almost forgot about this," Teyrn Bryce called out just as Alexander pulled open the eastern door. "Here," He continued, hurrying over to hand his son a piece of folded parchment through which lettering could be seen written upon it in black ink. "I received this missive only just this morning from a courier. In brief, there's apparently a merchant over near Sulcher's Pass that has come across something he believes may serve to reinforce our castle's defenses; he's willing to sell it to us for a fair price. In truth, pup, I've no idea if what he says is true or not, but this _may_ be worth investigating in the future, upon our return. Until that time, I'll leave the message in your capable hands. I don't believe this to be a trap, but perhaps if all is well for a time in Highever then you can take an escort of men-at-arms and go speak to this merchant personally. He's assured me he'll be in the area for quite some time."

"I understand," Alexander said, nodding in assertion as he tucked the missive beneath his studded leather cuirass. "I'll take care of this when able."

"I've no doubt," Bryce said. His voice trailed off into silence as the teyrn looked upon his son for a long moment, his gaze a strange mixture of pride and sorrow, as if truly seeing Alexander for the first time. The teyrn seemed about to speak, his mouth opening slightly to say something more, but it seemed as though the proper words failed him and he then shuddered, as if rousing from deep thought. Bryce then clapped Alexander on one shoulder as he finished, "Well, that was it, pup. Go and find Fergus now."

Bowing stiffly at the neck, Alexander took his leave, closing the wooden door behind him as he left the main hall. He turned left to walk along the stone-paved path that would take him past the dining room and through the atrium, heading towards the rear of the castle where the ground sloped upward in a ramp that ended in the well-guarded entrance to the Couslands' personal chambers.

Just as the young Cousland began to pass by the corridor leading towards the kitchen with its accompanying pantry, the heavy clank and rattle of an armored figure rapidly approaching was his only warning. Ser Gilmore almost collided with him head-on, appearing suddenly around the corner as he rushed along, his handsome face etched with a concerned frown. Startled, he partially raised a hand in apology, his eyes only half-glancing at the Cousland brother, before he did a double-take, abruptly recognizing Alexander standing before him.

"Ah, there you are!" Gilmore burst out, stepping forward. "Your mother told me the teyrn had summoned you, so I didn't want to interrupt, but still...it seems I've been searching _everywhere_ for you."

"And what can I do for you, good ser?" Alexander inquired; his tone was one of surprise as he raised an eyebrow in question.

"Pardon my manners, my lord," Gilmore said more formally, saluting, "but I fear your hound has the kitchens in an uproar again. Nan is, well, threatening to leave...again."

"Did he get into the larder _again_?" Alexander asked with a sigh, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid so," Gilmore replied solemnly, but the young lord could see the smirk threatening to spread across the knight's lips. He raised a hand to scratch his head thoughtfully, brushing back his reddish-orange hair as he added, "It seems no matter how hard the maids try to keep him out, he _always_ finds a way inside sooner or later. And you know these mabari hounds, my lord: they listen _only_ to their master; anyone else risks having an arm bitten off it seems."

"No," Alexander disagreed vehemently, "No, he knows better than to hurt anyone."

"Maybe so," Gilmore said slowly, his concurrence clearly reluctant, "but the Maker knows _I'm_ not willing to test that. You're quite lucky though, my lord, if I haven't said so before, to have your own mabari hound. They're smart enough not to talk, as my father used to say. Of course," He added, shrugging as best as he could in his brown plate-mail armor, "that means he's also easily bored. Nan swears he confounds her just to amuse himself. At any rate, your mother would have me accompany you until the matter is settled. Shall we?"

Alexander hesitated as he glanced to his left, down the corridor leading towards the atrium. He _did_ need to find Fergus still for his father... But a shrill shout of protest and annoyance in the next instant that echoed down the corridor before him settled any gnawing guilt he might have over this slight detour.

"Aye, to the kitchens then," Alexander agreed, gesturing for Ser Gilmore to lead the way. "It sounds like there's a war happening in there."

"Just follow that shrieking," Gilmore said, chuckling quietly as he grinned. "I swear, when Nan's unhappy, she makes sure _everyone_ knows it."

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree with you, ser," Alexander replied, muttering in a stage whisper to the knight, as if Nan could hear their words from so far a distance, and Gilmore laughed aloud in response.

The two soon arrived at the kitchens and Gilmore, with a mocking grin, gestured for Alexander to lead the way with a flourish of his right arm. Scowling in mock anger at the knight, Alexander pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by Nan's stern, imposing voice barking at her elf servants. He winced inwardly. Even years later, long after he had finished being watched over carefully by Nan as both teacher and nanny, he still recognized that tone when she was truly upset. He swore that even the toughest of the castle guards could be laid low by her temper, cowering before her stormy wrath.

"Get that bloody mutt _out_ of the larder!" Nan was demanding of the two elves, glaring at them both.

"But, mistress," The woman of the pair pleaded, raising her hands imploringly, "it won't let us near! I-"

"If I can't get into my _own_ larder," Nan rasped, shaking a fist at both of the servants, "I'll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!"

Gilmore and Alexander exchanged questioning glances, and this time the young Cousland gestured for the knight to proceed. Grimacing for a moment as he braced himself, Gilmore smoothed his visage into a somewhat genuine expression of concern.

"Uh, calm down, good woman," He began haltingly, "We've both come to help and-"

"You!" Nan practically hissed as she spun around to confront Gilmore as he spoke. "And _you_!" She added, her voice nearly rising to a shriek of outrage as her right hand snapped up to point a finger accusingly at Alexander. "Your mangy, flea-ridden mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!"

"He's _not_ a mongrel, Nan!" Alexander replied defensively, though he couldn't completely hide the quaver in his voice at confronting his enraged former nanny. "He's a pureblood mabari!"

"A blight wolf is what he is!" Nan returned scornfully. "How am I supposed to work like this? Useless elves, rampaging hounds, and the Maker only knows what else!"

"Oh, dear," The female elf said quietly in misery, before raising her voice. "Mistress, please calm down, it'll be all-"

"That's it!" Nan exclaimed, snapping her hands out. "I'm through! I'm going to quit! Inform the teyrna at once. I'm going to go cook at some nice estate in the Bannorn! A quiet place where-"

"Nan, please!" Gilmore burst out, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "We'll get the dog. Just calm down."

"Fine then!" Nan snapped agitatedly. "Just get him gone! I've already enough to worry about with a castle full of hungry soldiers! And you two!" She continued, rounding on her two kitchen servants like a pouncing cat. "Stop standing there like gawking idiots! Get out of the way and let them through!"

Shuffling quickly aside, the two elves bowed nervously to Gilmore and Alexander as they strode towards the door. Alexander momentarily glanced at the two servants, their faces filled with a fearful respect. The elves knew of the myriad punishments that could be inflicted upon them for the slightest transgression, though the Couslands, despite Nan's furious outbursts, treated their servants relatively fairly, more so than most other noble families.

Nodding at the two elves slightly in reassurance, he saw their faces lighten visibly with relief, the woman even venturing to smile slightly as she watched the two armored men pass by. Gilmore went first, pushing open the pantry door, and holding the weighted, self-closing portal open for Alexander to pass through before allowing it to shut with a clunk of wood against stone.

Several torn sacks and broken crates were the first things to greet their gazes, the contents of the storage containers strewn across the stone floor. Luckily, the large barrels of ale and smaller casks of wine hadn't been breached. Waiting for them, almost as if expecting them, was the large hound, heavy muscles rippling beneath its short brown fur, its stub of a tail wagging furiously as it whined in a pleased manner. Its blunt muzzle was smiling with sharp fangs bared, and the mabari had both ears cocked forward as it panted noisily, regarding them with keenly intelligent and piercing brown eyes.

"What a mess!" Gilmore exclaimed as he looked about, examining the destruction with a frown of dismay. "How did he even get in here?"

Alexander didn't reply and instead knelt before the mabari, gesturing with a gauntleted hand. The hound instantly rushed forward to greet its master with a happy bark, nuzzling against his face and neck, licking enthusiastically while snorting in pleasure as the young lord scratched it behind the ears and stroked its head lovingly.

"What a smart boy you are, Ironfang," He said fondly, smiling, continuing to pet the massive hound. "Don't worry," He continued, whispering conspiratorially to the mabari, "I won't let Nan punish you."

"Oh, encourage him, why don't you," Gilmore said with an exasperated sigh as Ironfang barked cheerfully. "It's no wonder to me now why he keeps giving Nan fits."

Suddenly, Ironfang froze in Alexander's arms, sniffing the air warily, his eyes darting about as his ears perked up and twitched. He abruptly growled deeply in threat and warning, spinning around to drop low in place and glare at a nearby wall.

"It seems he's trying to tell you something," Gilmore commented, his tone filled with caution as he too glanced about. "Wait... Do you hear that?"

"What the-!" Alexander managed to exclaim as at least a dozen huge, dark gray-furred rodents burst out from behind a wall of shelves and crates, squeaking furiously as they rushed forward to attack. Each rat was the size of a large terrier, and their eyes were opened wide with a crazed gleam. Their fangs were bared and wickedly sharp in the lamp light.

The Cousland lord barely managed to snatch his longsword from its sheath as two of the rats sprang for his throat. He slashed into one awkwardly as he drew the steel blade, cutting it nearly in twain in a welter of dark blood, and smashed the other one aside with a gauntleted fist. It crashed heavily into a stone wall with a dull crunch and didn't rise from where it landed. Ironfang was beset by four of the terrors, growling ferociously as he pinned two down with his heavy paws and tore another's head off with a snarl of rage. The fourth barreled into the mabari's right side, claws scratching and teeth tearing, only to be cut down by Gilmore's blade an instant later. Within another few moments, the unexpected struggle was over, the two warriors and the mabari easily dispatching their much smaller yet still savage adversaries.

"Giant rats?" Gilmore wondered aloud with disgust and surprise as he knelt down to examine one of the brutes more closely. His unexpected mirth started low, a rumbling chuckle, before it erupted forth in deep belly laughter as he threw his head back. "I'm sorry, my lord, please forgive me," He said as he recovered, noting Alexander's wondering stare, with even Ironfang regarding him quizzically, head cocked to one side. "But this is just like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell me right before bedtime when I was very young. And here I was even half-expecting to find silver coins amongst their corpses..."

"Ironfang must've chased them into here through their holes," Alexander said as he glanced around. "Though the Maker only knows how he fit his bulk into their tunnels. Still," He continued as he examined the rats' bodies, "it's clear he wasn't raiding the larder after all. At least this time..."

The mabari licked his master's hand appreciatively, whining in agreement.

"I haven't seen rats like these before," Gilmore mused aloud, "but I've heard of such in the past. These filthy brutes must be from the Korcari Wilds; I wonder what they're doing so far north... I think it'd be best," He added quietly, "_not_ to tell Nan. She's, uh, upset enough as it is right now. But seeing as how you've got your mabari well in hand, I'll be on my way. I need to prepare for the arrival of more of the arl's men."

Saluting Alexander respectfully, the knight left the pantry hurriedly and the Cousland lord could hear the eruption of voices from beyond the door as Nan tried to question the rapidly fleeing knight. Emerging from the pantry in the next moment with Ironfang padding along beside him, it almost seemed as if Nan teleported from across the kitchens to materialize suddenly before them, finger pointing accusingly as usual, though this time at Ironfang.

"And there he is," She exclaimed, glaring down at the mabari, "as brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!"

"Actually, Nan," Alexander replied mildly, suppressing the triumphant smile that was rising steadily to his lips, "he was defending your larder from rats." He leaned forward in emphasis as he saw Nan's face blanch at the mention of the rodents. "_Big_ rats."

"W-what?" The female elf servant spoke up nervously, her eyes widening. "Rats? Not-not the large gray ones?"

"If they catch you unawares, they'll rip you to shreds, they will!" The male elf added fearfully.

"Now look what've you done!" Nan snapped, disguising her own concern with a flash of annoyance. "You've gone and scared the servants! I expect those filthy things are dead then?"

"My faithful war hound made sure of it," Alexander emphasized, smiling down at Ironfang as he scratched the mabari behind the ears.

"Hmph," Nan grunted, glaring down at the mabari. "I bet that dog led those rats to the larder to begin with."

Ironfang glanced up at Nan, whining plaintively in disagreement.

"Oh, don't you even start with the sad eyes!" Nan said, wagging a finger at the mabari. "I'm immune to your so-called charms."

The hound whined again even more sadly than the first time, cocking his head to one side.

"Oh, all right, here," Nan said with a heavy sigh as she fetched an iron plate of pork scraps from a nearby table, setting it down before the hound. "Take this and don't say Nan never gives you anything! Bloody dog..."

The mabari barked happily, licking Nan's hands appreciatively for a moment before plunging his muzzle into the mix of meat and fat, snuffling and snorting as he devoured the food, hardly bothering to chew.

Nan watched Ironfang eat for a moment, a measure of fondness creeping into her eyes, before she realized Alexander was still watching her quietly, an amused smile on his lips.

"Ahem..." She said, clearing her throat audibly, unable to meet his eyes. "Thank you, my lord," She continued more formally. "Now we can get back to work." Her voice rose sharply as she glanced at the two waiting servants. "That's right, you two, quit standing about! We've supper to make! Adney, get moving with those casks! And Cath, do you think you can serve that to the teyrn with dirt from the floor all over it?"

"Grumpy old bat..." Alexander heard the male elf mutter under his breath as he moved to carry out Nan's orders. The young Cousland almost snorted with laughter, but froze in the next instant as Nan replied only a second later, her hearing clearly undiminished despite her age.

"Old bat, am I? Sweep out those hearths quick now and less of your lip!" She glanced back at Alexander, adding apologetically, "Sorry, my lord, but just keeping order around here; that's why your father keeps me on, after all. The good Maker knows I needn't take care of _you_ anymore."

A wet lick against her hand startled Nan for a moment and she recoiled instinctively with a gasp of surprise before realizing Ironfang was sitting at her side, staring up at her with a distinctly hopeful expression, smiling with fangs bared. Seeing he had her attention, he cocked his head to one side in a familiar manner and whined eagerly in question.

"No, don't you start with me now!" Nan scolded, placing her hands on her hips. "You've gotten all you're getting today!"

Ironfang whimpered sadly and seemed to nod reluctantly, but perked up a moment later as Nan reached out hesitantly to stroke his head gently. He nuzzled her hand appreciatively, a deep rumble almost akin to a purr emerging from his throat.

"And-and what about you, my lord" Nan said slowly, glancing up as she continued to pet Ironfang tentatively, having never laid a hand on the mabari before. "You've been keeping safe and well behaved, I hope?"

"Of course, Nan," Alexander replied, though he grimaced as he rotated his left shoulder slightly and stretched out the arm for a moment. Some of the sword blows he'd taken on his shield during the day's combat training had been powerful, to say the least. "As for safe..." He paused, chuckling in a low tone, before continuing, "Well, Swordmaster Thomas _does_ keep an eye on me, just in case."

"Well, that's-that's good then," Nan said, though her voice was low in ill-concealed worry. "I'm not exactly privy to your goings-on these days now that you're all grown up. Just an old nanny, never invited to your father's fancy meetings." A sad, almost wistful expression crossed her face, her eyes unseeing as she said, "Do you remember that bedtime tale I used to tell you? 'The Dog That Bit'?"

"Yes, Nan, but I'm afraid I don't have time for stories right now," Alexander said quietly. "I have to find Fergus for father and _this_ miscreant's adventures," He added, scratching Ironfang's head in emphasis, "has cost me too much time already."

"I suppose that's fair," Nan said softly. "Off with you, then; go and find your brother. And remember: don't get into any trouble you can't back out of."

"One of your first lessons to me," Alexander replied, smiling warmly at his old nanny as his eyes examined the gray of her hair, and traced across the lines of worry and age carving her thin face. He didn't know why, but he felt in that moment a very strange emotion, an unusual but undeniable sense of sorrow, as if he _knew_ with utter certainty that this was somehow...goodbye. The young lord stepped forward to embrace her in a tender hug. "I won't forget, Nan, I promise. I'll speak with you again soon."

Startled, Nan could only stand completely still and silent, overcome by emotion, until Alexander had stepped back, before smiling gently at him in return. Waving wordlessly for him to go, she waited until his back was turned to pull a thin rag from a nearby table to wipe her suddenly damp eyes.

Alexander departed the kitchens and returned to the castle grounds, making his way back down to his original path and then heading right, walking towards the atrium. What he found blocking his way through the atrium was a surprise indeed. Conversing amiably were his mother and another noblewoman. A well-dressed young man, with dark eyes and closely cropped light brown hair, and a strikingly beautiful elf lady-in-waiting, with blue eyes and long flaxen hair with twin braids hanging from her brow, stood attentively nearby, watching the two nobles talk.

"And my dear Bryce brought this back from Orlais last year," Alexander heard his mother saying as she spoke to the other noblewoman, half-turning to show her a bauble of some sort that Alexander couldn't see from where he was standing. "The marquis who gave it to him was very drunk, as I understand, and mistook Bryce for the king. Needless to say, my dear husband quite graciously accepted the trinket," Eleanor Cousland finished, laughing lightly.

"Ah, here is my younger son," She said, turning as she glimpsed Alexander's approach from the corner of one eye. "Step forward, Alex, and join us," She continued, waving at her son. "I take it by the presence of that troublesome hound of yours that the situation in the kitchen is handled?" She asked calmly, her steady voice betraying nothing of the nature of the problem to her guests.

"Yes, mother," Alexander replied, nodding respectfully at her and her guests as he walked up the wide stone steps to join them in the small atrium. "Nan is back to working hard as usual even as we speak."

"You always did have a way with her, darling," Eleanor replied, smiling fondly at her youngest. "Oh, but where are my manners? You remember Lady Landra, don't you? Bann Loren's wife?"

"I think we last met at your mother's spring salon," Lady Landra said, smiling politely at Alexander and nodding.

"Of course," He replied courteously, bowing slightly at the waist. "It's good to see you again, my lady."

"Such a gentleman, Eleanor dear; you've raised this one well," Lady Landra said approvingly, before laughing quietly with embarrassment, a flush of red rising in her cheeks. "But you're too kind, dear boy. Didn't I spend half the salon shamelessly flirting with you?"

"And right in front of your family too!" The young nobleman to Alexander's right declared, laughing aloud in genuine mirth. The smile he turned upon the older noblewoman was filled with love and affection.

Clearly flustered nonetheless, Lady Landra cleared her throat audibly before she said, "Do you remember my son Dairren? I believe you two sparred in the last tourney."

"And you beat me quite handily, as I recall," Dairren continued, smiling ruefully as he turned to Alexander and bowed respectfully. "It's good to see you again, my lord."

"And you, Dairren," Alexander replied formally, nodding. He then smiled in return, adding, "You're being too modest though; I recall you fought very well."

"Thank you, my lord, you honor me," Dairren said cordially.

"And this is my lady-in-waiting Iona," Lady Landra continued after the exchange had concluded. She paused for a moment, regarding the elf woman expectantly, before adding, "Well, do say something, dear."

"I-!" Iona began, startled, her wide eyes darting back and forth between Alexander and Lady Landra. At last she seemed to calm down, offering Alexander a modest curtsey as she continued, "It's a great honor to meet you in person, my lord. I've heard many wonderful things about you." A blush rose in her pale cheeks, turning them a lovely rosy red and her eyes immediately glanced down to focus on the stone ground beneath, a slim hand rising to nervously stroke some loose hair back over a pointed ear.

"Don't look now, Eleanor," Lady Landra said quietly to Teyrna Cousland, her voice teasing, "but I believe the girl has a bit of a crush on your lad."

"Lady Landra!" Iona gasped, horrified, her eyes widening with shock. She glanced at Alexander and he flashed the elf woman what he hoped was a confident, reassuring smile, but knew all too well that a good deal of his nervousness had bled into it. "I-I-" She began, sputtering with embarrassment, before lapsing into mortified silence.

"Hush, Landra!" Eleanor scolded her friend, raising a finger to her lips. "You'll turn the poor thing scarlet."

Alexander found it difficult to tear his gaze away from Iona's exquisite, smoothly sculpted visage, tracing along the lush curves of her body that were only somewhat concealed by her modest gown. He had never seen an elf woman quite as beautiful as her so close before and such an exotic loveliness as hers sent an involuntary shiver rippling down his spine.

_And what is to stop you from getting to know this fair Iona better?_

_ Nothing, but...women and I... The Maker knows I have never really had much luck there..._

Shaking himself mentally to refocus, Alexander found himself suddenly staring into Iona's alluring blue eyes as she watched him carefully, a concerned expression on her face, as if wondering why the Cousland lord was regarding her so intently. Nodding stiffly at her, the gesture somewhat curt and dismissive, he turned to his mother.

"May-may I have your leave to go now, mother?" He asked; his voice was tightly controlled as he struggled desperately to keep the blush from rising in his face after staring so openly at Iona's comeliness.

"Oh, of course, my darling," Eleanor said apologetically, gesturing for Alexander to depart. "You must have many things to do before Fergus and your father leave."

"Well, I think perhaps I shall rest now, my dear Eleanor," Lady Landra declared, "but we will surely talk again soon. Dairren," She continued, glancing at her son and Iona both, "I will see you and Iona at supper."

"Perhaps we shall retire to the study for now," Dairren said. Bowing to all, the young nobleman departed with Iona following closely behind. For a moment, she hesitated, glancing furtively back at Alexander. He managed to give her a warm half-smile and she smiled shyly in return, before stiffening as if realizing all around could see her actions and hurrying off after Dairren.

Alexander turned back to see his mother and Lady Landra whispering quietly to one another, finishing whatever conversation they needed to, before the visiting noblewoman turned to Alexander.

"Good evening, your lordship," She said politely as she turned to depart, heading back towards her guest room which was located in the same area of the fortified castle as the Couslands' personal bedchambers.

"Good evening, my lady," Alexander replied as he watched her walk away for a brief moment. He then glanced at his mother and saw her regarding him thoughtfully, a sad smile on her lips. Nodding to her, he moved to depart in silence, but had taken only three steps before he paused.

The burning question drove him relentlessly, his chest tight and uncomfortable beneath his studded leather cuirass, and with his mother right here and them both alone for now, he _had_ to ask it.

"Mother," He said; his voice was low but still rather sharp as he spun around abruptly to face her, "why can't I go fight with father and Fergus? Why must I remain behind?"

"Oh, my son," Eleanor sighed softly, stepping forward to place a hand gently against his cheek, "I _know_ it's difficult for you to stay behind in the castle and watch others ride off to war. Trust me, my dear, I know the feeling all too well. What I wouldn't give to take up arms and fight at your father's side... But you must understand you are a Cousland _noble_. You must do as duty demands of you and that is to watch over the lands of Highever and, more importantly, protect its people while your father and brother are both away. The eldest and the father both ride off to war; that is how it's always been. But you, my son, you must stay here and safeguard everything they are fighting for."

"And what if they fall in battle without me?" Alexander asked bitterly, glancing away, unable to meet his mother's eyes. "What if they die because I wasn't there, unable to save them?"

"It's all in the Maker's hands now, Alex," Eleanor replied firmly, "and we must cope as best we can. But," She added quietly, "I'm certain that if something _did_ happen to your father and Fergus, you would be claimed as well..."

"I-I know you're right, mother, but I just can't shake this feeling I've been having," Alexander whispered. "It's almost as if I _know_ something terrible is about to happen, but there's _nothing_ I can do to stop it. I've never felt so..._helpless_ before..."

"I'd be lying to you, my dear, if I said I felt even somewhat at ease with all of this," Eleanor said in a low tone, her voice tense with controlled fear as she clasped both hands tightly before her. "Your father and brother are marching off to fight Maker-knows-what in the southern lands. Only the dwarves of Orzammar know truly of the terrors that dwell below Ferelden. All the assurances in the world wouldn't comfort me in this dark hour."

"Will you be staying here in the castle then after they depart?" Alexander asked, attempting artlessly to shift their conversation towards something else.

"For a few days," Eleanor confirmed, nodding. "Then I'll travel with Lady Landra back to her own estate and keep her company for a time. Your father," She added, chuckling low with a kindly smile as she recalled the conversation from only a short time ago, "thinks my presence here might undermine your authority with the castle's guards and other household retainers."

"I don't think you should go, mother," Alexander said quietly, at last raising his eyes to meet hers. "Traveling abroad during these uncertain times... Even _with_ an armed escort of our best men-at-arms, I don't believe you should."

"Don't worry, my dear," Eleanor replied reassuringly, resting a hand on his right arm and squeezing gently, "I won't be gone for long."

"Well," Alexander said after a long moment of silence, "if that's settled then, I really should get going, mother. Father asked me to find Fergus for him and I've tarried in that task for too long."

As he turned to go, Eleanor suddenly spoke up, as if abruptly compelled to give voice to her feelings.

"I love you, my darling boy. You know that, don't you?"

"I love you too, mother," Alexander replied softly, glancing over at Eleanor.

The teyrna took in a deep breath as if preparing herself for some ordeal before letting it out slowly and saying, "Well, you go do what you must then, Alex. I'll see you soon."

Nodding briefly at her son, Eleanor departed, walking down the steps and heading towards the main hall, no doubt to go see the teyrn, her husband. Alexander watched her leave in silence, his face darkened by a grim expression.

_Too much is wrong about __**all**__ of this... _

_The arl's men strangely delayed; Fergus having to depart without father; and now mother leaving the castle only a few days later... And above all else, Ferelden herself threatened by the vile darkspawn, a Blight that has not been seen in years..._

Alexander gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching tight as his body trembled all over with tense muscles.

_Why do I feel like my family is being torn apart right before my very eyes...?_

He broke into motion suddenly, striding angrily up the steps along the corridor leading to the bedchambers, boots thumping hard against the stone floor. Halberd-wielding guardsmen in polished brown plate-mail saluted as he passed and offered polite greetings, but he paid them no heed. He instead was brooding silently, staring down at the rough blocks of gray stone as he stomped along, his thoughts consumed by frustration and fear. Icy dread gripped his heart, twisted his guts, set his breathing quicker, and he _knew_ it had to be misplaced, for nothing as of yet had revealed itself to lend credence to his otherwise baseless trepidation.

_The sooner I find Fergus, the sooner he departs, and the sooner I can witness for myself that this unreasoning apprehension is merely that. He and father will fight bravely alongside the king's army and then return to Highever alive and unharmed, of that I __**must**__ be sure._

Alexander turned left instinctively at the far end of the corridor, his body moving automatically towards the heavy, reinforced door at the far end. He never noticed the guard who pushed the door open for him as he approached or the three others standing alongside the first that saluted sharply as he passed by.

"Is there really gonna be a war, papa?" The young Cousland lord heard a young child's voice ask as, the words drifting across his mind as if from a great distance as he paused in the wide hallway just beyond the second door within. "Will you bring me back a sward?"

"That's 'sword,' Oren," The deep, rich voice of Fergus replied, his tone critical but affectionate all the same. "And yes," He added, "I'll get you the mightiest one I can find, I promise. I'll be back before you know it."

Alexander shook his head, a quick jerk to jolt himself back into reality, his eyes refocusing on his present surroundings. Rearranging his suit of studded leather armor to make himself just a bit more dignified and presentable, the younger brother approached the open doorway of Fergus' bedchamber.

"I wish victory was indeed so certain," He heard the low voice of Oriana – Fergus' devoted yet strong-willed Antivan wife – reply from just around the corner. "My heart is...disquiet at the thought of what is happening in the southlands."

"Don't frighten the boy, love," Fergus replied steadily. "I speak the truth. King Cailan is assembling a great army, one of the largest since the war against Orlais. Even the darkspawn cannot stand against such a host."

Clearing his dry throat audibly and with no small measure of unease, Alexander stepped into the bedchamber, turning the face the family that was gathered at the far end near some filled bookshelves and straight-backed wooden chairs with comfortable feather-stuffed sitting pillows.

"Ah, here's my little brother to see me off," Fergus continued, winking broadly at Alexander as he rose from where he had been kneeling before his son. "Now dry your eyes, love," He added gently as he turned to Oriana, "and wish me well."

"Don't worry, Oriana," Alexander declared as he walked over to join them, putting more vehemence than he felt into his words, "no darkspawn could harm Fergus!"

"Thank you for that, Alexander," Oriana replied with a snort of vexation, rolling her eyes, "but my husband is as mortal as anyone, despite his refusal to believe."

"Now, now, love," Fergus said reproachfully, wagging a finger playfully at his wife. "There's little call to be so grim."

"I-" Alexander began quietly, glancing at his elder brother with no small measure of anxiety, before finally forging ahead. "I wish I could go with you, Fergus."

"I wish you could come as well!" Fergus affirmed loudly, clapping a heavy gauntleted hand against Alexander's shoulder. "After all, it'll be tiring, you know, having to kill all of those darkspawn myself..."

He winked again, chuckling at Alexander's resentful yet warm expression, as if the young brother couldn't decide whether he was insulted or pleased. His hearty laughter was infectious though and Alexander soon found himself chuckling as well, unable to hold back his own amusement.

"Mother and father have been fighting about it for days now," Fergus continued in explanation. "And I think father just finally had enough of the argument. It's too bad though," He added wistfully. "I could've used you at my side, Alex."

"Surely they're right not to endanger _both_ heirs," Oriana said sharply, glancing from brother to brother.

"I know our parents are in the right, but..." Alexander's voice trailed off as he glanced momentarily towards the floor, somewhat embarrassed to give voice to his feelings in front of Fergus' wife and son. At last he lifted his gaze to look his elder brother squarely in the eye, saying, "You'll be missed, brother. I-I just wanted you to know that before you left."

Fergus smiled at Alexander's words, squeezing his younger brother's shoulder comfortingly as he said, "If it's any consolation, Alex, I'm sure I'll freeze in that southern rain and be completely jealous of you up here, warm and safe."

"I'm positively _thrilled_ that you'll be so utterly miserable, dear husband," Oriana snorted quietly, her tone doing little to hide her bitterness as she sighed in exasperation.

"I bear a message from father though, Fergus," Alexander said, moving hurriedly on to more important affairs. "He wants you to depart without him."

"Ah, then the arl's men _are_ delayed," Fergus replied, grunting in annoyance. "You'd think all of his men were walking backwards, given the turtle's progress they're making!" He sighed as he cast about one last time, checking to make sure his leather travel pack was nearby, and his weapons and armor were both secured.

"Well," Fergus continued, glancing at both Oriana and Alexander, "I'd better get underway. So many darkspawn to behead, so little time!" He quipped, but his attempt at levity was in vain, unable to shift the concern and misery clouding his wife's face. "Off we go then," He finished, patting Oren's head gently. He looked to his wife, raising a hand to stroke her cheek gently as he leaned in to kiss her tenderly on the lips. "I'll see you soon, my love," He whispered.

"I would hope, dear boy, that you planned to wait for us before taking your leave?" Bryce Cousland's voice came from behind the small group as he and Eleanor entered Fergus' bedchamber.

Walking up to Fergus, Eleanor gazed up at him lovingly as she said, "Be well, my son. I will pray for your safety every day you're gone."

"A good shield would probably be more useful," Alexander muttered under his breath, his innocent blasphemy earning him a grin, but also a reproachful nudge in the ribs from Fergus.

"The Maker sustain and preserve us all," Oriana said formally, her eyes meeting each of those gathered around even as she clasped her hands together in prayer. "Watch over our sons, husbands, and fathers, and bring them safely back to us."

"And while you're at it," Fergus added, glancing upward with a cheery smile, "bring us some ale and wenches, too." He beheld the venomous glare his wife cast at him and hurriedly continued, "For the men, of course!"

The next few minutes seemed to pass strangely through Alexander's eyes and ears, as if everything had become somehow surreal, and he was floating above himself and watching it all at a distance from a different vantage point. Smiles and laughter were exchanged along with fierce hugs and soft kisses of farewell. But over everything lay that dark, foreboding sensation of impending doom, clouding Alexander's mind and disrupting his thoughts. He thought he remembered speaking with his father and mother and saying farewell to all, claiming he felt ill and needed to rest, before leaving Fergus' bedchamber and stumbling back to his own room.

After carefully folding his armor into a large storage chest at the foot of his bed and placing his longsword on a weapons rack nearby, Alexander stretched out atop the down-filled mattress with a soft groan of relief. His head ached terribly, awhirl with the day's events, and his muscles were still sore and tender from the long training sessions during the afternoon. Even after closing his eyes, it seemed sleep was a long time coming, but eventually exhaustion took its toll and he slipped down into an uneasy slumber, tossing and turning restlessly.

It was the sound that awoke him suddenly, unexpectedly, from sleep. It was a sound that was out of place amidst the dim yet familiar castle noises of men-at-arms' voices and pacing boots, crackling torches, hooting owls, and crooning animals. It was the soft creaking noise of his door being opened slowly. Alexander cursed himself silently for a fool. In his agitated and distracted state, he had forgotten to bar the portal securely from the inside. Now someone unknown to him had somehow avoided the house guards' vigilant patrols and was making use of his stupidity.

Shaking his head to clear it of sleep's cobwebs, Alexander pulled a sheathed dagger out from beneath his pillows before rolling out of the bed to the right, landing lightly on his bare feet. Yanking the long dagger from its leather sheath and tossing the scabbard back onto his bed, he moved forward carefully, sliding silently across the cold stone of the floor and avoiding the silvery moonlight streaming in through his room's large window. He watched from the shadows of a corner as the wooden door continued to open. Just as a tall, thin figure wearing a dark cloak began to enter, he sprang forward swiftly, a cat pouncing upon its prey. His left arm shot out, thick fingers wrapping around the figure's slender neck, almost threatening to crush its windpipe as he dragged the person closer, his iron grip choking off the startled cry of shock. The dagger rose in his right fist in the next instant as he prepared to stab the would-be assassin, the blade gleaming wickedly in the lamp light of the hallway beyond his door.

He stopped short abruptly as he recognized the terrified visage of Iona, her eyes wide with fright and her body trembling in his grasp. Alexander released her as quickly as if he held a poisonous viper in his hand and backed away several steps, his dark eyes automatically shifting down to assess her hands. She bore no weapons openly and he didn't see anything else that might constitute a threat to him strapped across her body.

"Iona?" Alexander whispered numbly, half in denial and half in surprise. "What-what are you doing here?" His voice rose angrily as he continued, "Maker's blood, I could've _killed_ you!"

"I-I'm sorry, my lord!" The elf lady-in-waiting whispered hurriedly as she closed the door behind her. "I admit it was wrong to startle you in such a manner by trying to sneak into your bedchamber, but..." Her voice trailed away as she blushed, realizing he was standing before her with not a single scrap of clothing on. "Your forgiveness, my lord," She continued, her voice still a whisper, though now somewhat teasing. "I didn't know you slept unclothed..."

Despite her low tone and seemingly shy nature, Iona's blue eyes remained fixed upon him nevertheless, her gaze roaming almost greedily across his body, and Alexander found himself blushing under her rather intense stare. He quickly stepped across to his bed, snatching up his woolen blanket to wrap himself crudely about the waist.

"I, uh..." The young Cousland began awkwardly as Iona stepped forward towards him, her slender fingers rising up to undo the drawstrings of her cloak and let the thin covering flutter down to the floor. The pale linen nightgown she wore beneath clung tightly to her shapely form and left very little to his imagination.

"Iona..." Alexander began again, his voice a rough whisper as she stepped closer still, moving carefully as though any sudden movement might cause her to take fright, but now standing almost within arm's reach. "What are you doing here?"

"Was I wrong to come to your bedchamber this night, my lord?" The elf woman asked, her voice low and husky with desire, but still filled with genuine concern. "I thought perhaps we shared a connection in the atrium, that you could use the company on this lonely night, but if you truly wish that I should leave-"

"No," Alexander said quickly, almost sharply, as he stepped forward to meet her, half-raising his arms as if to restrain her, "don't leave, Iona. I just... Well... The Maker knows I've never had much luck with women before and I wouldn't wish to obligate-"

Iona stepped forward one last time, pressing her body against his as one hand rose to place a finger against his lips as she made a soft hushing noise.

"I know you are a nobleman, my lord," She said softly, staring up into his dark eyes, "of a strong and proud family, and that you will marry a human noblewoman very likely to not sully your bloodline. I am not here this night to...interfere in that somehow or to pleasure you as a means to another end... You are a good and honorable man, my lord; I felt that as soon as I laid eyes on you." Her voice lowered to a firm whisper as she finished, "My desire for you does not equate to an obligation and so if you would have me, then I would choose to stay here tonight."

Alexander had no words to express himself and so he merely leaned down, his lips seeking out hers. They met and he almost gasped at the sensation, his body shuddering as a jolt akin to electricity raced down his spine. Iona's right hand rose to his cheek while the left descended to his own fists, still tightly clutching the blanket to his groin. Gently, she worked his fingers loose and soon he dropped the blanket, his arms rising up to encircle her waist. Moving carefully, the elf woman slowly turned him around and backed him towards his bed, her lips, tongue, and teeth teasing and nibbling upon his sensitive neck and collarbones. Alexander was almost writhing against her with low moans and grunts at the previously unknown sensations.

At last they reached the edge of the bed and Iona gently but firmly pushed the Cousland lord back until he sat upon the bed. Sliding sensually down his front, she soon kneeled before him. Smiling coyly but still somewhat timidly, Iona lowered her head and Alexander fell back against the soft bed, his eyes closing sharply as he gasped aloud, unable to restrain voicing his pleasure as her warm, wet mouth engulfed him.


End file.
